What's Your Real Name?
by Time Traverser
Summary: How did the founding fathers discover Alfred's secret? What were their reactions? What did they do? Semi-historical fic. No romance, which means no yaoi, yuri, smut, lemon or anything else like that. Rated T for wiggle room.
1. Chapter 1

A long time ago...

George Washington looked upon the militia men in sadness. Some were dead, and many were wounded. He made his way through the bloodied field, giving help where he could, although there wasn't much he could do. Men...little more than farmers...few older than twenty...dead. Washington's heart cried out at the injustice of it all. The tall delegate came across a younger man who couldn't be more than fifteen, with dimmed blue eyes and dirty blond hair caked to his forehead. Despite his own wound, a shredded and bloodied splotch in his torso, he was comforting the person leaning against a tree next to him. "You'll be fine, I promise!" He broke off to cough.

The militiaman grimaced as he moved his wounded shoulder. "If they can dig out the ball. Otherwise I'll lose my arm." He looked over the younger one. "Why are you comforting _me_? You're the one who looks like he's dying!"

The younger boy shrugged, wincing at the sudden movement. "Ow. Don't be a pessimist. This isn't the worst thing that's happened to me-oh!" He saw Washington and beckoned at him, "Medic! This man needs some field surgery and bandages!"

Washington approached the pair, and surveyed the man's shoulder wound. "We should be able to get this out fine. It didn't go too deep, head over to the doctor's tent." The man made a labored grunt and shuffled off. Washington looked back to the wounded boy and shook his head. "You are _much_ to young for this, you know that right?"

The boy huffed, surprisingly energetic for someone in his situation. "I'm older than I look! And these guys needed help. I couldn't just stand by and watch!"

Washington knelt down to the boy's level. "What's your name, son?"

The blond hesitated. "It's-erm...Alfred, sir." He moved his hand to allow Washington to see the wound.

Washington frowned. "And you say you've been through worse?"

Alfred gave a hint of a knowing smile. "Yeah. Don't worry, this doesn't hurt to bad compared to that one time..." He trailed off, staring off into the middle distance. The boy shook his head and said, "I thank you for coming to see me, but shouldn't you be helping someone who needs it?"

Washington looked at him disbelievingly. "You're _dying_. I can't think of anything that is more urgent."

Alfred craned his neck to look around. "Well...if I'm _dying_, as you say, then shouldn't you help that guy over there with the missing fingers? He looks like he'll live."

Washington shook his head again. "Are you sure? I admire your courage, but quite frankly this is crossing the line into ridiculous."

The boy gestured with his thumb. "Don't waste your time on me!"

The delegate gave a deep regretful sigh and stood up. "Well then, if you insist...may God be with you young man." He left to attend others.

* * *

_Later On_

The report wasn't good. Most of the militia was gone. Over half were dead, and the many were wounded. _'I wonder if that Alfred boy is among the dead...'_ Washington thought idly, _'They die so young these days...' _The delegate set aside the report, he would take it to the next congressional meeting. Washington stepped out of his tent and took in the mostly empty field. The bodies have been taken away to their respective families, seeing as how they were all local men. Blood was still caked on the ground, which gave the area a sickly copper smell. How much farther would things go before peace? How many more would die?

An stout older man with a limp approached, the former militia's leader. "How long do you intend to stay, sir?"

Washington looked around. "Not much longer..." An idea came upon him. "Excuse me, but do you know of a young man named Alfred?"

The man's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes! The Jones boy. So cheerful...what about him?"

The taller man clasped his hands in front of him casually. "What's the last that you heard of him?"

The militia leader gave a small smile. "He's fine. I sent him home not that long ago. Don't worry, this wasn't his first battle. There wasn't a scratch on him."

Washington was careful to not show any surprise. "Oh? Lucky indeed."

The man made a noncommittal noise and walked off. Washington caught a slight shake of his head and a muttering, "No, not lucky. Not lucky at all."

* * *

**Alright. Next chapter is done! I'll keep trying to update regularly, but I have some things I'm taking care of and it interferes with my writing a little bit.**

**Thanks for the attention this story has gotten so far! I'm glad to see that I'm not _completely_ alone in the world. ;)**

**Review, s'il vous plait? ^J^**


	2. Chapter 2

America was running through town, hurrying to get to the congressional meeting. He wove through a clump of people and actually ducked under a horse to get by faster. '_Am I late? I don't know! I slept in and I have to get these papers to Thomas or else-'_

"Alfred!"

America screeched to a stop and looked around. _'Who said that?'_

An older man with long grey hair and a cane hobbled up to Alfred. He wore a rather uncomfortable grey and black outfit. He peered up at Alfred from his hunched position. "It's hard to catch up with you young man," he commented mildly. "I'm not as spry as I once was."

America straightened some of the papers he held. "Sorry, Mr. Franklin."

Benjamin Franklin waved off Alfred's apology. "No worries, Alfred. I'd imagine that we're going to the same place, if those papers are anything to go by. Walk with me, it's not that far so we won't be late."

Alfred smiled and relaxed. "Alright then, Mr. Franklin."

"Alfred, I've known you since the first congressional meeting. Please, call me Ben," the older man said.

"No problem...Ben," America responded experimentally. The two started to walk together.

_'Why does he keep looking at me like that?'_ America wondered, as Mr. Franklin studied him.

America decided to broach the subject. "Something on your mind?"

"Alfred, what does the 'F' in your name stand for?" the delegate asked.

"It stands for...um..." His face twisted into an expression of confusion as he thought about it. After a moment he shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, but I don't really know."

_'That's a good question. Guess I never really thought about it.'_

"Interesting," Ben mused. "Alfred, do you mind humoring an old man?"

America looked at Ben. "Doing what?"

Franklin smiled. "Just listen. A long time ago, when I first came here to work in my brother's print shop, I ran into a young man of some rank in the British navy who had a grumpy attitude and the largest eyebrows ever seen. His name was Arthur."

America's eyes widened slightly in recognition.

"Normally this would be of no consequence. But over the years, I continued to see him. At the market, at the port, in the shop...all over the place. Franklin paused and brought a hand to his chin contemplatively. "He never aged. He always looked exactly the way I first met him."

America nodded carefully, not giving anything away, their destination was in sight. A large green two story building, with other recognizable faces such as John Adams and Thomas Jefferson beginning to file in.

Benjamin continued as they walked. "Whenever I'm in France, I see another young man-I don't know his name-with blond hair and an expensive purple outfit. I sometimes see him wandering the halls of the palace, doing nothing in particular. Whenever I ask any nobles about him, they either don't know or refuse to tell me. He hasn't aged either." He watched Alfred's reactions through the whole narrative.

Outwardly, America was calm, but he was freaking out on the inside. _'He knows. I think. Maybe...' _America thought frantically.

The delegate wasn't finished. "Going back to the first man, Arthur. He's wasn't always alone. Sometimes there was a little boy with him. This boy aged, but not normally. He would go several years looking the same, then he would have a sudden and drastic growth spurt. He had blue eyes, blond hair with a stubborn cowlick...he bore quite a resemblance to you in fact." Benjamin stopped America right before the building by placing a staying hand on his arm. "So tell me, who are you _really_? I think I know, but I'd like to hear it from you."

The young Nation was silent for a minute. the gears in his head turning, _'Oh shit, he knows! I've been found out. I wasn't careful enough. Should I lie? Do I call him crazy? What do I do?...'_

Benjamin waited expectantly, his expression giving away nothing.

Alfred came to a decision. He turned to face Benjamin. "...A...America," he admitted quietly.

You could hear a pin drop at the sudden silence between the two.

Finally, Ben Franklin smiled. "I thought so. No wonder you go to all these boring meetings. You weren't lying when you said that they were important to you."

America studied his shoes, almost afraid to find out what would happen next. "So, what now?" he asked tentatively.

Mr. Franklin started towards the doors of the green building. "Now, we go in to that meeting. And carry on as usual. We can tell my colleagues when they are ready I think.

* * *

**First chapter done! I did this for lack of stories including the founding fathers. It's like no one cares!**

**If your reading this, there's about a 97% chance that you've read the story so far. Drop a review please?**

**Later Dudes. ^J^**


	3. Chapter 3

In a dingy tavern, somewhere in Pennsylvania, people were taking refuge from the howling snowstorm outside. A fire blazed cheerfully at one end of the room, giving the place an orangish glow that was aided by gas lamps placed strategically around the room. People clustered together at tables, chatting in a subdued manner. Two men, one rather short and portly, and the other fair haired and lanky, sat at a quiet corner table, making history.

The taller one, Thomas Jefferson sighed. "Yes, I agree with you. But I prefer writing over speaking."

The man across the table, John Adams, frowned. "Well, you have to speak _up_ occasionally. What do you do when you go to the market? Do you give the man a written correspondence of what you'd like to purchase?"

Thomas kept his face neutral as he sipped his tea. "Now that would be going a bit far wouldn't it?"

"You know what I mean," John replied. He followed his friend's example and sipped his tea before speaking again. "I wish that these delegates would actually _do_ something rather than extending a useless olive branch to the mad king. He hasn't listened before, how will this be any different?"

Jefferson elected to stay silent. Adams would start a passionate rant at the drop of a hat, and Thomas could sense one coming. The talkative one continued. "Parliament isn't going to listen either. They're not following their own Bill of Rights! They believe Americans to be below those born in the homeland. Do they not realize that we are English citizens too?"

Thomas adjusted himself in his seat. "Perhaps you could discuss this at the next congressional meeting? It would probably do more good there."

John scowled into his teacup. "Those blasted-"

He was interrupted by the door to the front of the tavern swinging open, letting in cold air and flurries of snow. A young man entered, bundled with a wool cap and a thick, well serviced brown coat. The whole room fell completely silent for a moment. This mystery person had an unusual air about him, an aura of something strange yet familiar at the same time. He took off the cap, to reveal messy blond hair. He stomped his boots and shed his coat, to reveal a simple, practical riding outfit. This person couldn't be more than fifteen.

John Adams waved at the boy. "Over here, Alfred!"

Alfred turned startled blue eyes on him. He hesitated for a moment, then weaved his way past the tables to get to them. He pulled up a chair. "I didn't know you two were here. Aren't you two supposed to be at home or something?"

Thomas made a noncommittal sound and sipped his tea again. John turned toward Alfred. "I would love to be at home right now. But this storm has made it impossible to travel. What about you? Do you live nearby? Isn't your mother worried about you?"

Alfred looked down. "Erm..." He seemed to be indecisive

Jefferson watched the boy. "It isn't that hard of a question."

Alfred looked up again. "No...kind of...yes. I live nearby. Eng...I mean, Arthur and I haven't been on the best of terms for a while. He's in London right now anyway, so I'm on my own..." He trailed off.

John eyed the boy, wondering at his strange behavior. "Alright then..." He decided to drop the subject for now. "Do you intend to sit in for the next meeting? You seem to find them fascinating, unlike most boys of your age."

The blond nodded, eyes bright. "Oh, yes! I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Thomas quirked a small smile. "And you were the official deciding vote for the great 'Who will Open the Window' debate. We wouldn't have ever gotten past the issue if you didn't take it upon yourself to leave your seat and do it for us. You m'boy, are indispensable to the political process."

All three men laughed. Alfred took up a self-righteous posture. "Why of course! With all my prowess-"

"Your what?" John asked incredulously.

"My catlike reflexes-"

"Your enormous ego..." Jefferson added.

"Along with my cunning..."

Adams did a spit take.

"...and my rapier wit, I am as close to godlike as anyone will ever be."

Thomas looked at the boy. "Now, now Alfred. If you carry on like that, someone might think you French!"

John thought for a minute. "...or Prussian."

Alfred laughed again. "Nope! I said _godlike_, not _awesome_."

"You have a point. But that albino fellow certainly had ego to spare," Jefferson responded.

Alfred rose from his chair. "I'm gonna go get something to eat. Do either of you want something?"

No, I'm fine."

"Same here."

"Alright!" Alfred said brightly. He left and started chatting it up with a waitress at the bar. It looked like he was flirting.

John regarded the boy. "Oh, to be young again...isn't he a bit young to be courting someone?"

Thomas watched as Alfred said something and the girl blushed. "I'm not so sure. He carries himself like one who has seen much, don't you think?"

"What are you getting at?" John asked.

"I think that there's more to Alfred than meets the eye. Tell me you haven't felt that way," Thomas responded quietly.

The older delegate sighed and looked into his now empty mug. "I'd be lying to say it hasn't crossed my mind. But it's really none of our business. He's a good and honest boy."

Jefferson leaned forward intently. "Washington agrees with me. When I asked his opinion, he told me a story that seemed absolutely impossible! He swears that it's true and I for one trust his word."

John eyed his friend. "What story? And what does it have to do with Alfred?"

The light haired delegate leaned back again. "Not now. He's coming back. We'll discuss this later."

The larger one raised an eyebrow and said nothing. What's so strange about a fifteen year-old boy?

* * *

**Another chapter done, and I really like how this one's turning out. By the way, I switched chapters one and two so that it made more sense. **

**Thanks for reading, and please review! Don't be shy, I don't bite!**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	4. Chapter 4

"I move to end this meeting immediately. It is getting late, and I wish to go home."

Alfred, who was daydreaming by a window, snapped to attention at the prospect.

John Adams glared indignantly at the delegate who said that. "It's not even dark and I'm not _finished_ yet! We will convene only when this matter is resolved." He thumped the table for emphasis.

"That is not your call to make, Mister Adams. Lord knows you'll _never_ be finished," John Hanson, the acting president, said with a yawn. He continued, "All in favor of addressing this issue at the next meeting?"

Everyone in the room began to gather their things with a unanimous, "Aye." Much to Adams's dismay. He huffed and also began to gather his things as well.

His friend, Thomas Jefferson, shot him an apologetic smile. "Your opinion _will_ be heard. We _will_ get something done."

"Why of course!" Adams scoffed. "But only If I can beat it into their heads with my walking stick!" He slammed a portfolio onto a table with a resounding _BANG_. Silence followed the sound as people began leaving.

"Oh, bugger," John Hanson muttered a moment later.

Alfred was almost at the door when he heard this. He turned back around. "What's wrong?"

The delegate was on his knees now, straining to reach under a large, heavy wooden bureau. "It seems that-almost-..._damn_. It seems that I've lost a rather important correspondence under this bureau. Could someone help me get it?"

George Washington came over first. The tall man strained to assist in moving the stubborn piece of furniture. The thing must have weighed a ton, for it didn't budge. Another lingering delegate came over to assist, and Benjamin Franklin watched the struggle with interest. The old man turned to Alfred and said, "Perhaps you should help them Am-I mean-Alfred?" His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Alfred didn't miss the dropped hint. Franklin knew of his unusual strength. He also knew _why_ Alfred had such strength. It wouldn't hurt to help, right? Alfred came up to the desk. "Could I try?" he asked innocently.

Washington looked at Alfred skeptically. "If you wish, but...I doubt that you'll do much better."

Alfred gave a knowing smile. "Stand back please!" He grabbed the bottom of the bureau and, with minimal effort on his part, lifted it clear off the ground. He even went so far as to balance it in his left hand and scratch his nose with his right.

Everyone in the room stared. Three grown men couldn't even make it budge, but this fifteen year old boy was holding it with one hand above his head. Said fifteen year old boy looked at John Hanson. "Aren't you going to pick that up?"

The delegate picked up the paper hurriedly. He stashed it with his other papers and left, not willing to believe what just happened. Alfred shrugged and put the bureau back in it's spot. he looked at all the faces in the room, varying from dumbfounded to confused. Benjamin Franklin struggled to his feet and laughed to break the tension hanging in the air. "I think you scared the poor man Alfred! I told you to _help_ them, not to show off!"

Alfred rubbed the back of his head bashfully. "Sorry sir, I just couldn't pass up such an opportunity."

"Why are you two acting like this is bloody _normal_?!" John Adams demanded as he tried to revive Thomas Jefferson, who had fainted.

"I think we would _all_ like an explanation," George Washington added quietly, in awe of what he had just seen.

"The meeting has convened," Ben Franklin said patiently. "You will all get your answers then." He hobbled out.

"I feel bad for all the people who _missed_ that!" A random delegate proclaimed.

* * *

**Another chapter...been completed, it has. But wait...I sense a disturbance in the force...another chapter, approaching it is. **

**Thanks for reading so far, stay tuned for more! You will review, da?**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	5. Chapter 5

The next meeting had an air of apprehension. Nobody wished to be the first to broach the subject of yesterday's events. Delegates often stole glances at Alfred, who seemed to be too deep in thought to notice. He sat towards the end of the room with his chair balancing on the it's back legs, and stared at nothing in particular, his blank face betraying nothing. But those who knew him intimately, could see that he was scared, and nervous.

A rather rotund delegate from New York continued his rant. "Antagonizing England further will lead straight into war!" he stated with passion. "We haven't a chance against the British Empire!" He sat down huffily and straightened his powdered wig.

An younger delegate, this one from Connecticut, also stood. "It's not like we could end in more dire straits than we already are by going to war. This is our only chance! You all know that if we meekly surrender now, conditions will but worsen!"

"Sir, you must remember that this is an ordered assembly! I will not stand for such blatant disregard of this council. You must request to have the floor, or you will not be recognized," John Hanson snapped at the errant delegate.

The delegate sat down angrily muttering to himself, "Adams gets away with it..."

Those who heard him tried to be indignant on John Adams's behalf, others had to stifle poorly disguised laughs. None could truly deny that. The delegate in question, however, wasn't paying attention. He twirled his quill absently, occasionally glancing back at Alfred.

George Washington knew exactly what troubled him, and decided to bring the matter into light. He spoke so that only those nearby could hear. "Mr. Adams, is there something that bothers you?"

John Adams glanced up to see most people in the room watching him now. For once he was at a loss for words. "Well-I...um..."

Thomas Jefferson leaned over to the flustered delegate. "Something concerning a particular blond boy behind us?"

Adams nodded silently.

Benjamin Franklin smiled to himself. He had been looking forward to this for a while now. He spoke up. "Well then. I believe we've stalled the issue enough now. Agreed?"

John Hanson nodded gravely. He called out to the back of the room. "Alfred!"

The young boy didn't hear. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

"_Al_fred."

Before John Hanson could call a third time, Benjamin stopped him with a silencing motion. Hanson looked at Benjamin, who gave a smile and a wink. With an unmistakable mischievous twinkle in his eye the elder delegate twisted himself in his seat and yelled louder than anyone has heard him yet.

"AMERICA!"

Alfred jumped in his chair, wide eyed surprise evident on his face as he snapped out of his stupor. The front legs of his chair slammed against the wood floor and threw him out of it. He hit the ground and scrambled up just as quick. "Ouch! What?!" He looked around the room, confused at the strange looks he was getting. He wondered if it was some fault of his. "You wanted my attention right? What d'ya need?"

Thomas Jefferson put a hand to his mouth, his eyes as wide as dinner plates. "It _can't_ be..."

"How is that even...what?" John Hanson practically whispered as his world turned upside down.

Alfred realized what had happened and slapped himself in the forehead. "_Shit_...you weren't supposed to know that...can I get in trouble for this?" He said this last part more to himself.

Washington made a triumphant sound. "_That's_ how you survived! I _knew_ something was different about you!" He turned to a grinning Benjamin Franklin. "But how did you know?"

The older delegate's smile even wider. "I figured it out early on. He even admitted it when I asked him."

Adams raised his hands. "Wait a moment. Mr. Washington, you said that he survived? What did he survive?" He turned back to Alfred who was now trying to look inconspicuous. "Explain?" His voice did not allow for compromise.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head. "Well...I was kinda shot by a British soldier and...I lived because well...I can't die so..."

The following silence was deafening.

The New York delegate from earlier scoffed. "Wait a moment. You're telling us that you're _immortal _as well_?_" He stood up, "Well sir, I for one require _proof _of this outlandish thing you all seem so ready to believe immediately!"

People around the room started to shout either in disbelief or indignation on Alfred's behalf. The din got to an unbearable level, to the point of one of the maids peeking in the room to see what was going on. Alfred smiled and shrugged at her apologetically. The girl nodded and closed the door again quietly. Alfred cupped his hands to magnify his voice. "HEY!"

The room fell silent. Something about his voice at that moment had a strange compelling effect. Some unnamed quality that made everyone _want_ to listen. Alfred spoke again, but this time at normal volume. "Sorry guys. But you're starting to make the people outside wonder, and I'd rather keep this little known fact private." He walked up to the front of the room, all eyes on him. "Alright. I feel you aren't going to believe me if I don't make this irrefutable and dramatic. So please forgive my actions if you take offense." He flashed a daring smile towards the skeptics of the congregation. "Remember, you're the one who wanted to know." He picked up a letter opener from the table, regarded it for a moment, and plunged it into his own shoulder. This elecited surprised gasps from everyone.

Thomas Jefferson looked sick. "Are you mad?!" He stared at Alfred in horror.

Alfred wasn't even phased by the wound in his shoulder, or the blood running down his arm. "Oh, no worries!" He nonchalantly pulled the knife out of his shoulder. "Just watch."

Delegates watched with bated breath-except for one from North Carolina who was hyperventilating. Alfred had placed the bloodied knife back on the desk-with his injured arm no less-and smiled as the bleeding gash closed itself.

Silence enveloped the room again. Ben Franklin gave a small laugh. "Now America, what did I tell you about showing off? I can think of a million other ways you could have approached that!"

"You act like this is _completely_ normal. You must be utterly insane!" Thomas Jefferson fairly yelled. He calmed down a bit. "But I suppose what's done is done. And I'm probably insane for going with this." He said this with resignation. A smile played on his lips. "Now that I think of it, I believe that Mister Thomas Bee just soiled himself!"

This elicited nervous laughter from a few people. Many were not sure _what_ to think anymore. John Adams stood. "This just proves that we should do what we can for these thirteen colonies." His voice was sure and unwavering. "Here we have the very embodiment of the New World, who has watched in despair as Britain takes his rights through a government body thousands of miles away! Yet at the same time, " his voice softened, "we have Alfred. A boy who has watched as the fate of his homeland is juggled in the hands of a group of delegates who can't decide on who will open the window. Well I say no more!" He made a sweeping gesture and asked, "Now who will stand with me-as I stand with America here? Who will join us?"

There was quiet muttering as delegates were clearly moved by Adams's speech. George Washington stood. "I believe I can speak for most of the men here, when I say that we will do all that we can." He turned to Alfred. "We won't let you down."

America had tears in his eyes. "I can't tell you how much that means to me everyone." He wiped his eyes and smiled. "I have complete faith in you all."

* * *

**Done! Well, probably done! I think this is a good place to end it, but I'm not sure...what do you think?**

**Thanks for the support I've gotten for this! It brings a smile to my face every time. Tell me what you think through a review?**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	6. Chapter 6

John Adams ran into Alfred again back in Massachusetts at the town near his family's farm. The town bustled with daily activity. Dogs barked and horses bayed at each other. Occasional shouts between workmen and snatches of conversation could be heard all around. A small, yellowing poster was nailed to a post near the local shop that read, 'DON'T TREAD ON ME.' It was between congressional meetings, so Adams was taking the time to spend it with his family in his hometown. But what was Alfred doing there?

The young nation's profile was stiff and his expression was carefully blank, but Adams knew the boy well enough to know he was furious. He was storming away from the governor's building, ignoring an official looking redcoat with large eyebrows over bottle green eyes and a mop of blond hair who was yelling at him.

"I'm not finished with you yet boy! Get back here!" the Brit yelled.

"Well I'm done with you!" Alfred shot over his shoulder.

The green eyed man glared. "Why can't you be more like your brother? He's _reasonable_!"

At this Alfred turned around to give the man a look that could curdle milk. "I'm _not_ my brother! Stop comparing me to him!"

The British man harrumphed and stomped back into the building, slamming the door shut behind him.

The delegate watched this exchange, gears turning in his head. Alfred's brother...that would be England right? No-Alfred's brother would be Canada, most likely. England would be more of a father figure so...that redcoat must have been England. John shook his head, reeling from the implications of such an exchange.

John Adams huffed to catch up to Alfred's brisk pace. "Alfred! Wait a moment!"

The blond boy didn't seem to hear him. He glared at the ground, muttering to himself angrily. He kicked at the occasional pebble, which would be unremarkable, except that these rocks were being sent off at the speed of a musket ball due to the nation's immense strength. John finally caught up to him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Stop kicking rocks like that or someone will get hurt!"

Alfred flinched and shot a withering look over his shoulder as if expecting someone else. But his expression gave way to one of simultaneous shock and relief. The set of his shoulders relaxed. "Oh. Hello, John!" he stopped and rubbed the back of his head sheepishly-a gesture that Adams has seen often from him-and said, "You didn't see that thing with Arthur...did you?"

The delegate scoffed. "I saw, _and_ I heard. Just like the rest of town. You could hear that yelling a mile away! But unlike the other fair citizens of this town, I understand. That was England wasn't it?"

America scowled again. John could now feel the waves of discontent and strife coming off of the boy. People nearby grew restless and animals started to get skittish. The blue eyed boy saw this and fought to calm himself down again. "Yes," he fairly growled.

John regarded Alfred for a moment, and struck upon a brilliant idea. "I'm heading home, and my wife and kids would love to meet you. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Alfred's face lit up at the proposition. "Really?"

Adams nodded. "Why of course! My wife always tends to make too much roast duck. I'll need help finishing it, we can't partake such an endeavor alone!"

The Nation smiled widely. "Why, I would be honored to help you in the tackling of the roast duck. I can never turn away from one in need."

* * *

Dinner was wonderful. Alfred turned out to be great with kids. He even got little John Quincy to join in a game of charades. Laughter abounded throughout the house. Eventually, Alfred was asleep in John's favorite chair, with the delegate's youngest snuggled up against his chest under a blanket. His wife, Abigail, smiled at John and leaned against him as they watched the peaceful little picture. It was a wonderful night.

* * *

**I've decided to add another chapter. Just because I'm _that_ awesome. I've been thinking though. I want to do another Hetalia crossover, but I'm stuck between two options. I want to either do a HetaliaXAvatar the Last Airbender crossover, or I want to jump on the HetaliaXHarry Potter bandwagon. Or I could do something I haven't seen and do a Deadly PremonitionXHetalia crossover if enough people are familiar with Deadly Premonition. What do you think? Tell me in a review or PM me! I have ideas for all of these.**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	7. Chapter 7

Alfred leaned back in his chair and watched with an slightly amused expression on his face as the last five delegates in the room argued.

"Since it's initially your idea, I think you should write it."

John Adams frowned at Benjamin Franklin. He rubbed his chin agitatedly. "If I were to do it, they'd run their quill pens through it and reject the idea of independence entirely. I'm not the most well liked delegate here, Mr. Franklin. Won't you write it?"

"Oh, no. I cannot," the older man responded.

"And why not? It's not as if you're completely unfamiliar with writing, what with the practice you must have gotten with that almanac of yours that I hear so much about," Adams pressed.

"Those are simple things like poems and calenders, or the occasional proverb. I'd rather not attempt to write anything on such matters as politics, I'm not very good at it. Besides, that's not _me_ writing it, that's _Poor Richard,_" he maintained with a sly smile.

"Right. Poor Richard is a person like I am a mule," John shot back sarcastically.

Benjamin had a mischievous twinkle in his eye as he responded simply, "Well, you _do_ have the tendency to be a stubborn ass."

Adams spluttered and Alfred struggled to smother his laughter. The other occupants of the room were either gaping in shock at what sounded like a casual insult, or doing the same as Alfred as they understood the accuracy of Benjamin's creative comparison.

John Adams shook his head and muttered, "Oh, you're all hopeless." He composed himself again and turned to a delegate who was trying to make himself unseen and inconspicuous. "Mr. Sherman, perhaps you would like to write it? You've made no enemies in all your time here, unlike myself. You're usually neutral and you've caused no controversy among us. They might listen to you!"

Roger Sherman shook his head. "I'm sorry. But I can't write properly like yourself, I have no formal education. I'm just a cobbler, here to represent Connecticut on behalf of it's people." He backed away from Adams, who had stepped too close to him, and shrugged apologetically.

Alfred looked Adams. "But why can't you write it?" He had mild confusion on that point.

The delegate started pacing agitatedly. "Because, no one likes me aside from Jefferson, Benjamin and yourself. I'm too obnoxious and opinionated for most of the delegates here," Adams said sourly.

"Why _are_ you still here?" a new voice asked, softly as if more to himself.

Adams stopped pacing and turned sharply towards the new voice. "Livingston! Robert old boy, You can write it! You've gained the favor of many and are a natural diplomat! Because-"

"Because no one likes him." Benjamin and Sherman intoned simultaneously.

Alfred snickered again. He knew how this would end.

Livingston, predictably, shook his head, "My apologies, Mr. Adams."

Said delegate groaned and put a hand to his forehead. "Oh blo-" He caught himself. "What's your excuse?"

Livingston shrugged sheepishly. "I would, but I'm going back to New York. I've been presented with a new son, and I must go and be with my family. It's bad enough that I wasn't there for the birth!"

John Adams was visibly surprised, and a bit embarrassed. "Oh, well...congratulations, then!" he said as he shook Livingston's hand. "I...suppose I couldn't reasonably keep you away from home for such a momentous occasion."

Livingston nodded gratefully. "Thank you, Mr. Adams."

Alfred practically leapt up from the chair he was in and clasped the man's hand in his. "May your son be happy and healthy my good sir!"

Robert smiled widely. "From you, that is like a blessing from god." He picked up his hat, "Good day!" and hurried out the door.

Adams sighed. "Now who'll-ah!" Thomas Jefferson, who was doing his best to silently sidle towards the exit, had an appropriate expression of dread on his countenance as John Adams bodily blocked his way out.

"Leave me alone," Jefferson said, with a half demanding-half pleading tone. "I haven't seen my wife in six months!"

John shook his head. "This document is essential to us! Surely you understand. No longer should we be slaves of Britain!"

Alfred smiled proudly.

"You write better than any man here, myself included." Adams continued. "You are gifted in composition and you have a talent for finding just the right words for an occasion. We _need_ you!" Where Adams lacked in writing, he made up for in speaking. "Now will you be a Patriot?" he demanded. His voice was laden with sarcasm as he spoke again. "Or a lover?" He stopped and waited for an answer.

Thomas, usually a mild-mannered fellow, was unusually agitated as his best friend gave him such an ultimatum. He mimicked John in a comical manner, adding a goofy voice and suitably exaggerated movements. "A lo-ver."

"No!" Adams shouted.

"But I must go home Mr. Adams! I _burn_ Mr. Adams!" Thomas said passionately.

John Adams scoffed back, "Well so do I!"

"You?" Benjamin asked.

"Well who'da thought!" Sherman said dramatically.

"I sorely wish to see my wife, I yearn for her gentle touch. I'm only 41, I can still enjoy these things you know!" Adams stated.

"I didn't need _that_ mental picture," muttered Alfred, shuddering.

John continued as if he hadn't heard. "But there's more to life than than sexual combustability!"

All those save for John Adams and Thomas Jefferson collapsed into fits of laughter.

"Quiet!" Adams fairly roared. Everyone stopped talking.

"I won't do it," Jefferson said obstinately.

"Yes, you will."

"Oh? And who's going to make me?"

Adams stepped forward, glaring up at the taller man. His nose just barely reached Jefferson's shoulders. "I will."

Thomas looked down at him, disbelievingly. He was obviously uncomfortable at such a proximity, but wasn't ready to back down. "You?"

"Yes."

"How?"

Adams glared some more. "By...by physical force, if necessary!" He stepped away frustratedly. "It's your duty dammit! It's your duty to us all!" He ticked each item off his fingers, "It's your duty to your wife, to your colleagues, the colonies, to Alfred...to everybody! Decide who's side you're on!" John stormed out, leaving those left in the room in varied states of shock.

Franklin gathered his cane and made his way for the door. "I can't keep my driver waiting!"

Sherman took his coat and hat. "I'll...just be going now."

Soon, the only ones left in the room were Thomas Jefferson and Alfred. Thomas exhaled a breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Gah! That man is driving me to homicide!"

Alfred let out a small laugh and rocked on his heels. "You? I hope not!"

Jefferson shook his head as he said, "I haven't decided yet..." He looked at Alfred thoughtfully. "What do you think about all this?"

Alfred rolled his shoulders casually, wincing almost imperceptibly at some small pain from somewhere in the colonies. "Well...most of me want's out of the British Empire, part of me doesn't care either way, and a small section of me is afraid of leaving it. But all of me thinks that if this is going to happen, you should be the one write this thing."

Jefferson frowned. "Is that you talking, or America?"

"I _am_ America. But I'm also Alfred so...both," the blonde boy answered.

"I'm flattered by your trust, truly. But you'll forgive me for having doubts," Jefferson said. "I mean...a Declaration of Independence...it's such a large step forward. Are we ready?"

Alfred started towards the door. "It's only human to doubt. Whatever you decide, I'll stand behind your decision." He said this unwavering confidence and his trademark grin. He passed through the large double doors, turned the corner and disappeared, leaving Thomas Jefferson to ponder.

* * *

**I recently found this musical called '1776' and decided that the musical number, 'But Mr. Adams,' would be perfect to use for this story. You may recognize some lines from the play, with alterations of course.**

**As always, thank you for the reviews and such! It feels good to be appreciated. What'd you think?**

**By the way, there's a poll. It's on my profile. What Hetalia crossover am I doing? **

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	8. Chapter 8

"So he's a _loud_ drunk," Benjamin observed amusedly as he sipped his drink. Tea, of course. He wished to keep his wits about himself among his colleagues. Tonight, he could observe their habits when not working.

"I guess so!" Alfred responded, equally amused as Roger Sherman slid off his barstool, yelling something about Lobsterbacks and fishing nets. The boy looked down and swirled his drink, pondering.

Thomas Jefferson, who was very uncomfortable to be there, perceived something was on Alfred's mind. "What is it?" he asked casually.

Alfred shrugged. "I was just wondering how it feels to get drunk."

Robert Livingston raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "I'd imagine you would've experienced it at least _once_ by now, considering your true age." He could speak freely, for the tavern was very loud tonight and their table was relatively private.

Alfred shook his head. "Nah, drink never did it for me. I never understood why." He placed his mug on the table almost sourly. "I don't even bother trying anymore."

John Hanson finally arrived, dragging a grumpy John Adams in his wake. He looked happy to be finally able to put Adams in such discomfiture. He jovially pulled up two chairs and joined the group at the table. He sat down in his chair and Adams plopped down beside him. "I finally got him away from his writing!" he stated victoriously.

Adams grunted, "So, what am I supposed to do now?" He looked at everyone in askance.

"Now, we get you a drink! You too, Jefferson." Livingston waved at a barmaid and ordered for them.

"We were just talking about the fact that Alfred can't get drunk," Benjamin said idly.

"Really?" Hanson asked. "I wonder why that is?"

"Could it be due to your nature?" Jefferson wondered.

Alfred smiled mysteriously. "Empirical evidence suggests that this is not so."

"Oh? And what empirical evidence is that?" Adams demanded.

Alfred smirked and said nothing, clearly enjoying his companions' confusion.

"Perhaps we'll never know," Benjamin speculated solemnly.

The barmaid returned with two more drinks that were placed in front of Adams and Jefferson respectively. Jefferson sniffed it suspiciously and sipped it politely. Adams shrugged and took a swig from his. "You're not missing much anyway, boy," he stated. "Being drunk is a miserable and humiliating affair."

"Speaking from experience, Mr. Adams?" Livingston asked lightly.

"No, I am not!" Adams snapped indignantly, glaring at the New York delegate.

"Lying through his teeth!" Benjamin loudly confided to Livingston. "Remind me to regale you with a tail featuring a governor's carriage, a shopkeep sign, and a chamberpot. We'll do this later of course, away from sensitive ears." He mocked covertly gesturing to Alfred with his thumb.

Adams's face flushed with embarrassment. "You swore to tell no one about that debacle!"

Benjamin shrugged. "Well, it's to late to hide it. I believe there's a drinking song about it circling through the colonies."

"What? What happened?" Alfred leaned forward eagerly.

Benjamin raised his hand's in surrender. "I'm sorry Alfred, but Adams is right, I gave him my word." Alfred's shoulders hunched in defeat.

The conversation was interrupted by a commotion by the bar. A blond british officer had stomped in, extremely drunk. He was in a shouting match with Robert Sherman over something nobody but them could understand.

"It's-uh. It's _your_ fault!"

"Wot was...was that? You colonial...cat! No, wait, it's dog...You and your complaining n' whining n' shite!"

"You!-...you damn...um-...damn you!"

"Shaddup ya bloody...er-...I think I forgot."

Now they were in a pitiful slap fight. Sherman over reached and hit the ground. Meanwhile, the British man somehow managed to trip over nothing and land on top of his fallen enemy.

Alfred stared incredulously at the scene, shock clearly written all over his face as he almost whispered, "_Arthur?_"

Jefferson looked at him sharply. "You know that man?"

Adams grimaced. "I've seen him before. What you see before you, is the embodiment of the ever-so-mighty British Empire."

Benjamin had a carefully blank expression. "Well, regardless of status or identity, we can't let them carry on like that now can we?" He gestured vaguely to Sherman, who was snoring softly in his sleep and England, who had crawled over to a barstool and was now courting it. Spectators laughed and threw catcalls at both of them.

Adams got up and said tiredly, "I suppose not." He gestured to Hanson. "You and I will get Sherman off the floor, and then take him home. Alfred, swallow your pride and get England away from the barstool."

Alfred scowled, but got up, albeit grudgingly. The trio made their way over to help. Adams grabbed Sherman's feet while Hanson took his upper body. They carried him off to the street, presumably to take him home. Alfred regarded England, who was still cooing at the furniture, and shook his head. He turned to the crowd that had gathered and put on a disarming smile. "Sorry to end the night's entertainment, but I gotta get the Brit out of here." He turned back to the green eyed nation and kneeled down to take the barstool away, but England held on to it like a child would a teddy bear.

"No!" He cried out petulantly "You can't take her from me! I've lost the only other that I truly cared for!"

Alfred was surprised at this to say the least, but he had a job to do. So, he filed this information away for later and gently wrenched the barstool away from the bawling man. He then bodily picked him up, and carried him out of the tavern. Arthur spent this time beating against Alfred's back with his fists, "No, no, no! NOOOOOO! Clarisse, DON'T LEAVE ME!"

Alfred wasn't sure when he named the barstool Clarisse, but he wasn't going to question this. He sat England down on a crate and shook his shoulders, "Be quiet! You're making a fool of yourself!"

England slumped when Alfred let go. "It doesn't...doesn't matter anymore! He...he left me! Why did he _leave_ me?!"

Alfred found it hard not to pity him, for he didn't realize England had cared! But this didn't change anything. Things were to far gone now, and the fact that England didn't understand _why_ all this happened, showed that it wouldn't turn out well for either if he had stayed. England pitched forward as he suddenly fell asleep. Alfred wasn't sure where England was staying for the time being, and the elder nation was in no condition to give him directions. So, Alfred made him as comfortable as possible and left. England would sleep it off and hopefully forget. There wasn't anything else he could do.

Alfred looked around and saw Benjamin and Livingston both standing outside the tavern. Livingston shook his head. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen..."

Benjamin nodded. "Indeed. Is this what you were talking about when you said 'Empirical Evidence?'"

Alfred shrugged. "This isn't the first time he's been drunk. That man just can't hold his liquor!"

"Does he always rant like that?" Livingston asked curiously.

"Yes," Alfred responded, remembering other times. "But it's usually about France or Spain. Sometimes it's vikings, but only if he _really_ gets down into his cups."

"It doesn't sound like he was ranting about France this time, Alfred." Benjamin stated calmly. He looked closer at the nation's expression, "How are you feeling?"

Alfred shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I'm fine...I suppose. I just need some time to think on things." He waved a quick goodbye and walked off, towards the line of trees not too far away. The two delegates watched as he disappeared into the dark.

"I hope this doesn't affect his resolve," Livingston said worriedly.

Benjamin shook his head, and headed back for the tavern. "It won't, I'm sure of it. Big things are about to happen. Things that will change the world. The question is simply how this will end. Now come keep me company in the tavern Robert, the night is young yet and I would hate to drink alone."

The two went back into the cheerily lit building.

* * *

**I felt England needed more of an appearance, so I decided to do this chapter. **

**Thanks for all the reviews and such! It's great to see. Whatd'ya think about this installment, please tell me your thoughts on it. **

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	9. Chapter 9

"I remember you," Washington said in slight surprise.

The albino looked at him squarely, with one eyebrow raised. "You do?"

Washington beckoned to the ragged soldier behind him and said quietly, "Go find Alfred and bring him here." He turned back to the albino. "Yes, you're the Prussian that was with Adams when he had that incident with the carriage and the chamberpot." He said this, somehow managing to hide his smile.

Said Prussian rubbed the back of his head, a gesture familiar and reminiscent of someone else Washington knew, and laughed. "Heh...you were there?"

Washington shook his head. "No, but the description of you was rather detailed." He stopped and put a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "But you're not just any Prussian, are you?" The conversation was interrupted by the command tent's flap opening, showing the underling from before leading a confused and dirty Alfred in. Washington dismissed the underling.

The blue-eyed boy surveyed the tent warily, and asked, "You needed me?"

Washington gestured to the albino. "This is..."

The albino interrupted immediately, holding out a hand to the young boy, "I am Gilbert Beilschmidt, also known as the awesome Kingdom of Prussia! And you?"

Alfred was a bit taken aback by the man's cavalier and casual attitude, which clashed with his impeccable dress and general air of pompousness. Alfred shook his hand hesitatingly. "I'm Alfred, or America if you'd prefer."

Gilbert withdrew his hand and surveyed him. "I notice that your uniform is disheveled, and your musket is in desperate need of cleaning."

Alfred looked down at himself. "Well..."

"And why aren't your boots polished? I notice that there aren't many here who even _have_ shoes, so shouldn't you at least take care of yours?" The albino continued.

Alfred folded his arms defensively, and glanced towards Washington with a silent plea for help. Washington just shrugged his shoulders and excused himself from the tent. Alfred looked back at the Albino, who was waiting for an answer. The blond unfolded his arms, adjusted his musket's strap on his shoulder, and shrugged.

Prussia smiled wolfishly. "Oh, yes. I'm going to enjoy this."

Alfred cocked his head suspiciously. "Enjoy what?"

Prussia began to circle Alfred slowly. "I'm here with Friedrich Von Steuben to smarten you up and get you ready to kick the British out!" He stopped in front of Alfred, "Now, you will address me as 'Your Awesomeness' or 'Sir.' Whichever you'd prefer. But that's about the only choice you'll be getting."

He strode out of the tent, beckoning for America to follow. America did so, and decided to keep his mouth shut for now. Washington seemed to trust him, so that was good enough for Alfred. He struggled to keep up to the albino's long stride as the man continued. "While Von Steuben deals with the humans, you will deal with me, understand?" He didn't wait for an affirmation. "We will begin your training every morning at the crack of dawn, you will do _what_ I say, _when_ I say it. You will do this without complaint, question, or excuse..."

Washington observed from a distance as the pair walked through the camp. Alfred's face showed a mixture of dread and hope as he listened to what Gilbert was saying. Meanwhile, Von Steuben was giving a similar lecture to the gathered troops, who's expressions were similar to Alfred's. Washington didn't envy anyone in the camp.

His musings were interrupted by a long string of german curses coming from Prussia in the distance. He must have seen Alfred's tent.

Nope, he didn't envy them at _all_.

* * *

**This short chapter is about when Freidrich Von Steuben, the Prussian general who went to Valley Forge and trained Washington's Continental Army. It makes sense that Prussia would also be there to train the Nation equivalent, right?**

**Alright, now I just need to find a way to end this story in the next chapter or so. Then I will be moving on to the next story, a _Hetalia x Harry Potter_ crossover, according to the poll. **

**Thanks for the feedback on this story so far! I thrive on them like a fish does water! What d'you think about this chapter?**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


	10. Chapter 10

Alfred sat on a bench and watched the final ship get ready to depart. It was the last bit of British influence in port, with a lone Union Jack hitched to it's main mast. People rejoiced in the streets, finally free of the mad king. Alfred felt a lot of things at that point. He felt weary from battle, jubilant at his success, hopeful for the future...

...and he felt loss, for his long-gone caretaker.

None other than Benjamin Franklin joined him on the bench, groaning as he sat down. Alfred gave a small smile that he didn't fully feel. "We really did it, didn't we?"

"And yet you are still upset?" Franklin asked carefully.

Alfred reached up and flicked non-existent debris from his shoulder. "I...I said some things I shouldn't have said and..." he hesitated. "What we can't move past this?"

"Move past what?" Franklin pressed.

"Well, things will never be the same again. Which is a good thing, of course. But, internationally, it might not be such a good thing."

"Ah," said Franklin. "You're afraid of England."

Alfred half rose out of his seat. "No! I-" He was interrupted as Benjamin bade him sit down.

The elderly delegate leaned back on his chair. "You misunderstand me, boy," he continued. "You're afraid that you and England cannot reconcile after all of this."

Alfred fiddled with his thumbs. "That's not the only thing..." He paused a moment and then said it in a rush. "Canada-my brother-is with England. What if he hates me for this? I'll never be able to see him again!"

Benjamin thumped his cane on the ground. "Listen to me, and listen well. You are correct, things will never be the same again. But couldn't you work toward making things better?"

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

"There is much work to be done, before you and England will be on speaking terms each other," Franklin continued. "It may be _years_ before England, or anyone for that matter, even acknowledges your presence."

Alfred's shoulders slumped. "That...does not make me feel any better."

Benjamin kept on, as if not hearing him. "But if you work for it, it will happen. Of course, there's much work to be done. Much work that I will not be around to see."

Alfred took a deep breath. "It will be hard, without you to guide me."

"There will be others, I'm sure," Benjamin stated solidly. "Work has already begun, you know. John Adams will be going to England as a diplomat for you. That is the first step."

"And the next step?" the Nation asked.

"Whatever the situation calls for. But remember to stay true to yourself, always." Benjamin looked around. "Help me up, please? There's a celebration going on, that one shouldn't miss."

Alfred did as the man asked, and looked down at his people, dancing and cheering. He then looked out to the sea. _'Someday,'_ he vowed, _'I _will_ be counted among the Nations of the world. No matter what it takes.'_

* * *

**Alrighty then! This story's done, so on to the next one!**

**Thanks for reading, and for giving me feedback. What is your final verdict for this story?**

**Later dudes. ^J^**


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